An old man, whose official rank was Grand Historian—his surname lost to memory—was taking his midday nap at home when, suddenly, a full retinue appeared, marching out from the main hall. The procession numbered perhaps a few dozen; the horses were as large as frogs, yet the men were no bigger than a finger. An official, clad in an embroidered robe and wearing a black gauze cap, rode in a sedan chair carried by two tiny bearers.

The entire company swaggered past the old man and then marched straight out the door.

The old man felt a strange stirring in his heart, thinking, "Perhaps I’ve just woken up, and my eyes are playing tricks on me?" As he remained bewildered, a tiny man returned to the room, clutching a package the size of a fist. He walked directly to the bed and declared, "My master has prepared a small token; the Grand Historian is requested to accept it graciously."

Even as he spoke, the little man held the package tightly with both hands, showing no inclination to actually hand it over.

After a short pause, the small man chuckled, "A mere trifle of a gift, which I suppose the Grand Historian has little use for. Why not bestow it upon me instead?"

The old man nodded his assent.

The little man was overjoyed, hugging the package tightly as he bustled away, soon vanishing from sight.

The old man was so overcome with fright at the time that he forgot entirely to inquire after the little man’s origins.